Based on ‘The Millinery Shop’ by Edgar Degas.
Grace in the folds that she fixes-
shifting her shift,
in the storeroom, she drifts
perfectly poised in the cold-
There’s a warmth to the textures she touches-
there’s a depth to the dip of her hand
when, in humming the beats widows spin from the streets
she’s moved by a gossamer band.
Based on ‘L’Etoile’ by Edgar Degas.
Is this how the swallow feels when, in being released from its cage,
it staggers onto a sunrised stage
the change of pace
that startles at the flurry of hands reminding her of forgetful wings?
The soul that sings
despite the seasons
in the sensation of flight.
when the very flutter of your step
reminds men that no bar can break you?